


it's in shambles.

by georgeluz (eugeneroe)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, ft. an obscured third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eugeneroe/pseuds/georgeluz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just an insanely small glimpse at a post-fight with webgott when both have reached their ends. through joe's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's in shambles.

**Author's Note:**

> i reposted this from an rp ask from one of my blogs. is that okay to do? (i'm too new here, haha.)

He left the room in such a rush after another petty dispute, door slamming behind him. One solid bang echoed off the walls and lured in a silence that turned eerie, uncomfortable, made the back of joe’s neck raise. Or was that in lieu with some weight harboring his stomach and clouding his mind heated with a spite-flame that just refused to go out? God if he can tell. What he becomes increasingly aware of is the stomach weight turning into guilt.   
  
Christ, that fucking _college_ boy.   
  
Each side is armed with their own edges, rough and different enough to cause friction with each argument. Disputes like these usually resolve themselves in less than an hour, with one striding back into the room, or wherever-the-hell they were, and not acknowledging what’s happened. **_(_** Webster used to want to talk about it, but they disintegrated into acceptance what’s done is done. Grudgingly, he always accepted. **_)_**  
  
This time Joe was about to enter the room he previously stormed out of, like a bug returning to the bright light that burnt it when it first made contact: he’s reuniting with what’ll hurt. What he hears is muffled once his hand grabs the doorknob, the voice of Webster steadily growing audible as joe nears his head to the door.   
  
The words bleed through the wood. Joe can picture Web sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from the door. He sounds a little further away.   
  
"I don’t know anymore. He’s — I’m so tired of this. I’m not sure how much of this … bullshit I can take anymore. It’s been happening so often– what? Yeah , I know. I know and I’m aware it’s Joe. I'm aware he’s always got this _propensity_ to be pissed. I don’t —–” a pause. Joe wonders who he’s on the phone with.   
  
Weariness settled long enough in Webster’s body that Joe hears it in his voice. It’s different from their rage-filled , passionate arguments months ago; this David sounds fully spent. There’s a breathy sardonic laugh from Webster as if laughing at the situation’s pettiness, “The next argument we’ll be having will end up with the entire house incinerated. You think I can stay over on that chance?”   
  
Wounds felt like they were reopening in his chest – it fucking stings – and Webster’s conversation were the blades exacerbating the already pained cuts. That’s how he really felt, then, huh?  
  
Liebgott doesn’t say anything, resists any urge to burst through the door that his anger has compelled him to do time and time again.   
  
He leaves and takes his car keys with him.


End file.
